Lessons in Friendship 1 - A Glimpse at PTSD
by PiercedBlueCat
Summary: After what happened at the pool with Moriarty,in the beginning of SiB. John having a flashback and Sherlock wants to know about it.


**Lessons in friendship 1 - A Glimpse at PTSD**

_After what happened at the pool with Moriarty,in the beginning of SiB. John having a flashback and Sherlock wants to know about it. No First Person POV but almost entirely form Sherlock's side._

_Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC and the guys who invented them. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my english, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands __and no profit is being made._

_I know my descriptions might be different and need getting used to (at least that's what I have been told all my life from a really early age)… but I sense different in a lot of ways than many other people, much to my regret most of the time. This is not only trying to improve my English, it's also about practicing communication to be compatible with other people… _

_The descriptions and patterns of thoughts might sound odd sometimes, but speaking in my native tongue sounds odd to people, too :) (to much details, to fast, to abstract, to many pictures played with). In other words: I know I have that flaw, and it isn't really by accident that I carried it into my english writings :) It's not an error in translation, german descriptions are not like that, either. .. and I don't translate. This pours out of my brain like that within minutes, and I am sooo glad I learned how to type - on a ten kg mechanical typewriter in 7th grade :)… almost fast enough to keep up with my thoughts. The parts of this mini-(missing-scenes-)series where written within 30 to 45 minutes each. _

_Well, I'd like to know if this way of describing is understandable and helping this stories or not… please review._

_Un-beta-ed! _

_I have no medical knowledge and do not know if i followed the right procedures!_

Sherlock had known what PTSD was in theory before he had meet John Watson. Probably more than most people, but not more than what have fitted on fifteen pages in a psychology journal. He had known what events might cause a trauma of that kind and that symptoms might be flashbacks, panic attacks, triggers and physical reactions to mental pain. And that there were several totally different ways to approach the problem. Lots of therapies contained elements of traditional Chinese medicine, some REM, some tried to evade reliving and triggering, and some were about constantly confronting the patient with it.

When John had moved in he briefly mentioned his diagnosis (which Sherlock had already guessed himself) but they never really talked about it in detail. Sherlock hadn't considered it a serious problem, especially not after John's limp had gone a lot better during their first case. Now and then he saw a hint of hobbling when John was in emotional stress but it vanished within days and he doubted anybody else then him saw it. John had never been seen with the crutch after the cabby-chase.

The first time he ever got a small glimpse of what might have been a symptom was when John, Sarah and Sherlock had come home after the end of the banker-case. Sarah had wanted John to go to the hospital for observation but he refused.  
Sarah had been shaken pretty much herself but had taken care of cleaning and bandaging the headwound. While she did John had sat there staring blindly ahead, unmoving. Sarah had obviously been irritated by that. She had finally clapped her hands in front of his face gently and he had slightly jerked and expressed he had been somewhere else for a moment, deep in thought. Sarah had raised her eyebrows but left it alone.  
John had tried to convince her to stay if she doesn't want to be alone but she had wanted to go home and told Sherlock more than once to check on John every hour and call if he showed odd behaviour. Sherlock made recite every symthom that might fall into the description of odd and she had left.  
It left him a little flattered that she had told him it was his task to care for his friend now since she was to shaken and exhausted and Sherlock was obviously fine and knew John better.  
He considered John a friend, he had since the end of the pink-case, but when he had introduced John to Sebastian earlier as his friend John had corrected him with the word "Colleague".  
Was it because he wasn't sure if Sherlock was his friend?  
… Or because he didn't like he might mistakenly considered Sherlock's boyfriend?  
Or may it was inappropriate to introduce a 'friend', better to say colleague at their work because it sounded more professional?  
Maybe it was just too early for him to define their relationship as friendship…. There was something about trust issues, right?  
He had no other friends but John's behaviour was kind and caring so he had interpreted it as friendship… but John was kind to everybody else, too … maybe it was just part of his personality? Sherlock decided to start a sub-routine running in the back of his mind that observed John's view of the topic friendship and stored it in close proximity to the program that monitored signs of PTSD but which had been idle since he had started it. The program hadn't written even a single entry into his minds manila folder which was in the file-cabinet that was labeled with the name John. He wondered why John had a file cabinet in his mind while almost all other people (except Mycroft who had also a file cabinet) had a kind of database without a picture in his mind. The image of the file cabinet for peoples' facts and behaviour patterns in varying situations, their favors and everything else he had established as a kid. He remembered when he had seen on of those large storage objects at a library and had immediately converted the concepts for his mind's use. He had been about five at that time … maybe it was because computers hadn't been an allday occurrence back then and he had started transferred concepts of operating systems and programming when he had learned to use them, which was about when he was a teenager. Mycroft's cabinet was made of wood and looked like a really old antiquity. John's was of hard, painted metal and looked solid and new he realized a few hours later when he passed it as his PTSD-monitoring-routine kicked in for the first time.

He had went into John's room to wake him and check him for symptoms of concussion and had found John breathing rapidly in his uneasy sleep. Nightmare.

"John?…" he tried, standing a bit lost next to the bed. "John, wake up!" but John didn't seem to notice him. Sherlock leaned closer, seeing sweat on John's brow and a clenched jaw.

He hesitated, not sure on how to go on.  
Was it allowed for him to touch him? He had only touched John for the first time earlier - and that was quite intimate - as he had thought about it later and he came to the conclusion it had been inappropriate. He had grabbed John's head when trying to make him remember the graffiti. John had grimaced and tensed up, clearly in discomfort, but had not pushed him away.  
Why not? Sherlock had shifted his hands to his upper arms realizing his discomfort but continued to spin him around. It had taken several turns until John had pushed past his stunned immobility and had escaped his hands. Sherlock didn't like to touch people, but being touched was far worse. He had only touched John because he had worn gloves and was sure this would turn down his and John's discomfort in equal measures.

Sherlock kept his distance now. Standing there he wondered it he should belatedly tag this behaviour as might-go-into-the PTSD- rubric?

"John?" he asked again, louder this time. John gave a muted whimper. "Wake up!" John jerked awake and sat up obviously distressed. Clearly not the best choice to wake him like that. Try different next time.

"God, Sherlock, what is it?" he panted. Lifting his hand to his throbbing head.

"I want to check if you are coherent and wake normally." Sherlock informed still keeping his distance.

"I am fine, ok? So leave me alone." He turned his back to Sherlock.

"Would you please tell me today's date?" Sherlock asked, using please to be nice.

"Leave it, I am fine… would you let me sleep, please."

Sherlock hesitated a moment but was sure if John was in a bad way he'd not have answered like that. He went back to his computer and set his alarmclock for two hours.

02:08

Sherlock switched off the alarm before it had a chance to ring.

He again stood in front of John's bed, he seemed to be sleeping in a normal way this time.

He leaned closer and tried to speak more soothing than last time.

"John?…. Would you wake up for me?…. John?"

John blinked awake. "Uh, dammit, Sherlock, what is it now?"

"Want to know if you are alright…"

"I would be if I could get some decent sleep. Would you stop that! I am fine, you don't need to wake me up every hour, my concussion does NOT need monitoring!" he sounded unnerved.

So he knew where he was and knew what had happened. Good. Sherlock left the room.

04:08

An hour later he went in there again. John's face was sweaty once more and he looked pale.

Sherlock though about taking his pulse but stepped back when John moved.

"God, no…. she'd dead…. God, no….. " John whispered.

"John, are you with me?" no reaction "John!" louder this time.

John opened his eyes and blinked, obviously only half awake.

"Can you hear me?" Sherlock started…. Maybe it was time to be less superficial Sherlock decided, diversion from having him wake up again. "What did you dream about?"

"Nothing."

"You seemed distressed."

"Leave it…"

"I want to know."

"Soo Lin."

"What about her?"

"She is dead for god's sake! Do you care at all? … We should have stayed with her…. Maybe she would be still alive if we did!.. or at least if I did."

"You can not change what happened." Sherlock informed.

"Why do you ask about my distress? Just to tell me I am wrongly having emotions?"

"I …"

"Let me sleep, Sherlock." He turned away once more.

"Sarah told me to look after you."

"So, you're doing this _not_ because I mean anything to you as a friend, but just because she told you to?"

"No, I do it because it is my duty as a friend." Sherlock turned and went back to the kitchen, wondering what he did wrong.

6:08

The next time he should have woken him was not necessary because John stood up to go to the bathroom and then had a shower. Sherlock prepared tea for breakfast.

They met at the kitchen table where John sat down to stare at the picture of the graffiti again.

"So nine mill…. Nine million… " he read out loud what Sherlock had written over the picture while Sherlock filled their cups with tea. They agreed to go to the bank again and ask the PA about the pin.

Several days later they found themselves in a pool area with John wearing an suicide bomber belt involuntarily. When they thought the situation was solved - Moriarty had simply left - how disappointing.

Sherlock saw John sway and ripped the bomb of John, John was pale and looked drained.

"How are you?" It was the second time Sherlock asked John about how he felt in a few hours (the first time was when they has sat at the diner having breakfast after John had claimed he was getting sick with the lack of food their constant search had caused), John's color had improved after he had eaten.

John made a joke about he was glad none saw them but then knelt down and leaned on a changing cubicle, pale and shaking. Sherlock was - for the first time in a very long time - really wrought up with the whole thing. Moriarty had invaded something …. Stepped over a line, but Sherlock wasn't able to name the line yet. A part of his brain was near panic while another tried to point out the line when anther one kicked in: John, distressed, not able to stand, maybe in shock? Closer evaluation necessary. He went towards him but that was when he heard the door open again and Moriarty came back, now he hadn't seen this coming, too! Second time in one hour! New routine: never let your guard down when dealing with him!

But the situation got dangerously close to an unpleasant end until Moriarty's phone had rang… then it dissolved again, this time, neither John nor Sherlock were able to relax. Sherlock phoned Lestrade for a SWAT team while he dragged John to his feet and they stumbled out of the pool area. They left the building on the back side and John was trembling. With fear? Shock? Or the just the cold outside. Clenched jaw, slight frown, distant gaze….. not the cold. Distant gaze?…. Shock! shell shock?… expression from WW1 and 2 for PTSD, also called Thousand Yard Stare) - check for response to be sure. This was the first time the monitorPTSD-rountine had kicked in.

"John?…. " No answer "John, are you alright?" They stood in the back alley leaned against some wall and panted. It was dark. He gently took John's shoulder.

"John!.. Answer me! Do you need to go to a hospital?" he was a doctor, he would know. No reaction.

He grabbed his wrist.

Pulse: thready and fast, breathing: panting, seemed an effort, shock due to stress presumably, keep person warm to prevent state to become life-threatening.

He slipped out of his coat and carefully manhandled John into it, who wasn't helping but also not resisting. Sirens in the distance.

"John, please answer me….." but John only stared blindly ahead.

"John, I need you here! Your medical knowledge is needed!" his voice was raised and the whole thing started to distress him, too. He flipped his fingers in front of John's eyes and this was when John gasped and started to move. But his legs wouldn't carry him and he started sliding down the wall. Sherlock caught him and held him upright. A few moments later John found his balance and leaned heavily against the wall but stood alone. Sherlock let go.

"What did just happen, John?" John looked disoriented and was very pale.

"I don't know…. "

"You weren't responding and staring ahead…"

"I …. know…." he gulped.

"Are you alright? Are you in shock? Do you need to go to the hospital?" Sherlock repeated.

"'m fine. Just a flashback, nothing to worry."

"You are not fine…. What does a doctor do when a person has a flashback?" he tried.

"Not now, Sherlock… please…." John tried to reclaim his composure, frowning when he realized Sherlock was only in his suit jacket and looked around for the coat. He shivered once more and Sherlock grabbed the coats front and wrapped it closer around him, wait, coat? He looked down and saw himself wrapped in Sherlock's coat.

"Why am I wearing you coat? What happened?" he wanted to know. He knew where he had been, in a combat situation in Afghanistan, but what had happened in the real world during that time?

"I feared you might be in shock, so I tried to keep you warm. Lestrade is coming." He wanted to tell John if he didn't want to be seen wearing the coat now would be the best time to get rid of it. But John wasn't reacting, probably because he was still to much out of it.

Lestrade came around the corner and ran towards them.

"I want to go home." John whispered in a tight voice.

"We will, as soon as possible."

John convinced the ambulance crew he was fine and after a short examination they let him go. He took the shook blanket, though. Sherlock excused them and they were allowed to leave since they promised to come to Scotland Yard first thing in the morning.

They arrived home and John started to make tea. Sherlock sat in his comforter with his coat on, no time for unnecessary stuff, the activated routine needed attention.

"John, how often do you get flashbacks?" he asked.

"Sherlock, I am not in the mood to discuss this."

"I need to know!"

"What for?… to evaluate how nuts I am?.."

Aggressive tone, insulted? No, more like protection from further hurt…

"I don't think you are nuts."

"Really? Why not, psychosomatic limp is considered pretty nuts by most people…."

Was that why John never told anybody he was shot in the shoulder? He left them believe their own wrong conclusion that he was hit in the leg, didn't correct them. He also never mentions his PTSD to anybody. Nobody except Sherlock seemed to know his leg was physically ok. Had he been hurt by people treating him as if he had a defective mind?

He himself had known all his life that he was different, but never considered himself damaged, though he knew other people did. People called him freak and other names, but he had learned to live with it. He knew his social skills weren't the best, he knew he had more brains than a lot of other people and he knew other people's senses were blind and deaf in comparison with his. But people didn't like to know other's were smarter, made them hostile or trying to prove they were smart all the time. He had accepted it and partly encapsulated himself. But John had been an open, friendly character, a fully functioning member of society and now his world was upside down and his PTSD prevented him from functioning on a satisfactory level in his profession, robbing him of his job as a soldier and army doctor, rendering him unable to work fully. Was he himself thinking he was damaged goods? Or made other people think him that? His self-consciousness had obviously been seriously affected since he was shot. Had he himself added to that? Probably. Had he wanted to do that? No! He might have been careless. But John was a friend and he wanted to care. Though this was kind of an unexplored area. So he started a new routine that should prevent him from saying things to John that might be condescending.

"I am frequently called a freak, and I don't think you are nuts. And since we live and work together I want to know what I can do to understand, prevent and be of assistance in case help is needed. One day it might be the small thing that makes the difference."

"You mean you're afraid that I blow it and you can't compensate?" John was getting more hostile by the minute.

"I consider you a friend and I want to help."

"Now, what makes you think I want the help of someone who doesn't want my help himself and who pushes me away or is rude whenever I try?" John stood up. "A friend would accept my help, too, Sherlock."

"I'll have a shower." And he was gone.

Was that it? Was it impossible to entrust Sherlock with his most vulnerable topic? Was he afraid Sherlock might rampage there? … had he done that to often around John? John was right, he pushed him away when he was vulnerable, in pain or grief or overwhelmed with something. When John offered help he had regularly rejected it. … even though John was a doctor he had avoided to go to him when he was physically affected. He kept quite about things that a doctor could take care off or should have been entrusted with (like being almost choked to death by a Chinese villain). Ok, so to get trust you have to give some, he knew that… but he was so out of practice to trust, he had forgotten…. So, entrust John with a bit more of his own vulnerabilities … and give some more care about his needs…. and goggle in depth what to do when flashbacks happen and how triggering works ….

_This will be continued in several short pieces… The titles allways start the same. _

_I don't like to post in chapters and this is not one long story. More like a study of different aspects of the developing friendship._

_Please review :)_


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